THE 



A RTl ST 



ANIJ 



OTHER POE M,S. 



BY HENRY C. PREUSS. 



W^SHIJ^GTOJ^", D C. 

PRINTED AT THE DAILY FOUN'TAIK OtFiCH 
1847. 



THE 



A ]{ T 1ST. 



AND 



' T II E Pi P E M S 



y 



BY HENRY C. PREUSS. 



^ 




I'RINTED AT THE DAILY FOUNTAIN OFFICE, 
1847. 






TO 



ONK OF AMERICA'S MOST TALENTED 

YOUNG ARTISTS, 

THiy LITTLE WORK IS RESPECTFULLY 

P.Y HIS .SINCf:RE FKIEIST), 

The Author. 



THE AETI^T. 

A POEM. 

There is a strange and mystic liniv 
Between tlie climate and the mind; 
And Poets in their lofty flights 
Have sung of genius and of love. 
With all their light and glowing warmth. 
As offsprings of the sunny South. 
And yet, methinks, there're many pure 
And gushing founts of poesy. 
E'en in the cold and icy North. 
To him, whose gloomy spirit loves 
To hold communion with the dark 
And dreary things of Earlli — there is 
A charm — a wild and potent cliarm. 
In mourning Nature when her hrow 
Is clouded by a wintry sky ! 

Wiien bright and joyous Spring unfolds 
Her budding beauties to tlie Sun, 
We feel a soothing balm, whicli steals 
Like Love's first dream upon the soul. 
And Summer too, whose beauties are 
More luscious yet tlian tliose of Spring ; 



And more than all, tlie mystic giaiice 

or pale and hectic Autumn — all 

Have povv'r to move the Poet's soul. 

And yet Dame Nature has a charm,^ 

A far more wild and fearful charin, 

Wlien in l\or graver mood she clothes 

Old mother Earth in shroud-like voh:3 

Of pale and yellow sunsliine — Oh ! 

There's magic in a Winter's scene. 

Which pen nor pencil can portray : 

A feeling of the InJinUc^ 

^Vhcn Earth puts on her snowy garb. 

And seems one mighty sepulchre! 

The sunny rose and lilly soft, 

Which deck'd the blooming hrow of Sprint 

The .cweet and blue-eyed violet, 

And all those children of the Sun, 

Bright miniatures of Angels ! 

W^hich come among us for a tiiuc, 

To point us to a purer world — 

Thi've died in all their loveliness ! 

No trace is left by which to mark 

The sunny spot v.'bere once they bloomed 

And yet they're not forgotten, for 

The melancholy wintry blast 

Oft pauses in its lonely course 

To sing its holl(.>w requiem ; 

And e'en the pale and twinkling stars 

Their cold and tearful vigils keep 

Jn sdence o'er their resting place! 



^Tis scenes like these which animate 
The hidden fires of the mind : — 
Which give to man a longing for 
The glories of Eternity ! 
And such they were which did surromi-d 
The humble cottage of a youth. 
Whom I would feign essay to sing 
In words of burning Poesy ! 
Then tune thy lyre, Oh ! gentle muse. 
To notes of wildest melody : 
And go thou forth with magic wand 
To waken up the spectral flame 
Of Art and fairy Poesy, 
Which long have slumbered in neglech 
Forgotten by a grov'ling world ! 
Go wing thy flight to realms above, 
And cull the fairest plants which grow 
Upon the azure field of Heav'n : 
Go wander forth from cloud to cloud 
And hold commune with sun and stars-, 
Then pause at twilight's holy hour, 
When night comes Imrried on — and catch 
The fading %eauties of the West, 
Ere darkness shrouds the earth beneath. 
And thus ihou'lt learn, Oh ! gloomy muse, 
The myst'ries of th' Eternal mind : 
And thus thou'lt read the Sybil leaves 
Of life, and death, and destiny. 
But hark ! A voice doth speak within. 
Of stern, a'ld hoarse sepulchral tone : 
^' Down, down ! oh mortal with thy pricle ! 
1* 



liow dare>st thou to seek the keii. 

Of those things which are yet to come f 

Thon low-born offspring of the earth ! 

Could'st thou but find what thou dosjt seek, 

Dost know that thy poor fragile clay 

Would crumble 'way in pallid fear, 

To see the dread and awful truths — 

The Revelations of its God ! 

But know ! thou hast a vital spark 

Within its prison-house of flesh, 

Eternal Light, and first struck from 

The ess nee of the Deity ; 

And when death disembodies it 

From all the clogs of earlhliness. 

Then slialt thou find loliat thou dost seek! ''" 

'Tis ever thus with all the dreams 

And aspirations of the soul : 

\Ye thirst for something more tlian earlh- 

With all its cold realities \ 

We long to plume the spirit's wing, 

And soar into the dreamy sky ; 

And when, alas ! we find 'tis vain 

To burst the shackles of the flesh, 

How does the poor degraded mind. 

Like exile from his native land. 

Fall back upon itself, and feed 

its burning thirst with phantasies 

Of rosy joy, and sunny mirth, 

And pleasure which can never die ! 

But ah ! amid its re veilings. 



Through inoon-ht glades and lighted hall; 
Where angels bright are channting forth 
In strains of Heav'nly melody, 
K'en then there comes a gloomy Sprite 
With lips so pale, and haggard clieek, 
AVMio breathes her Simoon breath npon 
These fairy realms of fancied blis.s, 
Which fade like day before the night ! 
Then comes that wild and burning thirst 
To know what 'was and is to come ! 
But these are dark and gloomy thoughts, 
The ofTsprings of a troubl'd mind ; 
And thou, my muse ! be thou content 
To sing e'en in an humbler strain, 
Shouldst thou but touch one gentle chord 
Of human kindness in the heart ; 
Shouldst thou awake the genial flame 
Of love and holy sympathy, 
For him who now inspires ihy song, 
My end is gained — 'tis all I ask — 
My richest, brightest, best reward ! 

Where rolls Penobscot's icy stream 

In vvild and lonely majesty, 

Through forest dark and snow-clad vales. 

There liv'd — the hero of my song. 

He wa5 not born in '^Marble Halls," 

Amid the dazzling glare of wealth, 

And fickle fortune never shed 

One beam of sunshine o'er his path ; 

Nor had he learn'd to bend the knee 



8 



or sycojkhancy to the great ; 

For in his inmost soul there was 

A feeling of the proud and free, 

Which scorn'd to slain, or stoop beneath 

The dignity of freedom''s sons ! 

From early youth lliere was a tinge 

Of dreamy romance in his mind, 

And this was Inuglitened by the wild 

And fearful scenes which nature had. 

In rich profusion, placed around 

The humble cottage of his birth. 

From icy rock and forest bare, 

P^-om Earth in all her loidow'd channs 

Did he, this son of Genius, catch 

The elements of Poesy. 

jSTor long was he content to live ~ 

Amid these scenes of rural bliss ; 

But feeling in his spirit's depths 

A thirst to breathe unto the w-orld. 

The bright creations of his mind, 

lie turn'd him from his pleasant home 

Where all was, which is dear to man. 

And wander'd forth with bold resolve 

To win a name upon the earth. 

Nor have his efforts been in vain, 

For he haih pencill'd out the bright 

And glowing beauties of his soul 

In forms and hues most gorgeously! 

The verdant vale and limpid stream 

The star-lit sky and crimson cloud. 

Have yielded up their beauties to 



The magic of the artist's skill. 

And yet his eagle mind dwelt not 

Alone upon the beautiful. 

For he hath drawn with fearful art 

The wild horrific strife of war ; 

We see the stern commanding brow, 

The moral strength and iron will. 

The majesty of intellect 

In danger and impending death! 

But where is he, the gifted one 
With all his wild and glowing thoughts? 
Where is that mind which once reveaPd 
'In color'd forms of living light, 
'f ts bright conceptions to the world ! 
Oh, gentle reader ! if there be 
One chord of pity in thy heart: 
If thou canst in fraternal love 
A glow of molting sorrow feel. 
For Genius fallen in it's^rime 
And all its light gone out in Death — 
'Then pause ! and hear the simple tale 
'Of him whose life and destiny 
Are to the philanthropic eye 
Sad monuments of cold neglect 
And baseness of a sordid world ! 

Far in the soft and sunny South 
There is a wild sequesler'd spot 
Of most romantic loveliness. 
It may be called a village, for 



10 

There're many smiling cottages 
Which here and there are interspers'd* 
That heighten still it's rural charms. 
Toward the West, with visage grim 
The Alleghany rears its proud 
And giant-form; and here we see 
The noble and sublime of Earth ! — 
Piles of frowning elevations 
Which to the faded vision seem 
Like "wind-hills" of the Druid Priests 
Chain'd by the mighty agency 
Of Him — the Spirit of the air f 

Not many years have pass'd away, 

Since to this " Eden of the South '^ 

There came a youth ; and one might deem. 

To gaze upon his flashing eye 

And catch the light of intellect 

Which played upon his classic brow — 

That nature had intended him 

For high and noble destinies- 

But ah ! there was a hue of death 

Upon his dark and pallid brow — - 

And fell consumption had affixM 

Her hectic seal upon his cheek. 

And he, this stranger youth had sought 

This little wild secluded spot, 

Far from the noise and strife of men 

To yield his spirit to its God ! 

The blushing buds of early hope, 

I'he fev'rish dreams of ffolden fame. 



11 

Tiiiagination's weird charms 
Were now no more ! Nor yet had his 
Proud spirit tamely yielded to 
The storm which laid it desolate ; 
For dark and deep it's struggles were 
To win a name that could not die. 
But he was thrown alone amid 
The cold and heartless crowd of earth. 
The cursed pomp of money 'd pride, 
The envious critic's leering grin — 
And more than all, the deadly blight 
Of cold and chilling penury — 
To these — his spirit bow'd at last 
In wild and dark despondency I 
And no one came with soothing balm 
To heal the wounds of blighted hopes 
Which fester'd deep Mdthin his soul \ 
And he was far too proud to seek 
The heartless sympathies of man : 
But darkly did his spirit brood 
With vulture-fangs upon its woes. 
Until his fragile frame gave way 
Beneath the burning weight within ; 
And then he sought this little spot 
In peace to lay him down to die ! 
Oh ! wild and fearful were the words 
Which he did utter, when the hot 
And burning fever rack'd his brain ! 
Dark spectres of the past arose 
In horrid form before his eye : 
The criish'd and blasted hopes of youth' 



12 

Tlie boyish sport — the sister's love — 
The doating mother's parting tear — 
And all the cherish'd scenes of home 
Came back to mock his tortur'd soul I 
But this was only for a time ; 
And after this a calm came o'er 
The \f ild convulsions of his mind. 
And ere death strook the vital spark 
Forth from that fair and noble form. 
A bright and mystic gleam of lighti 
Did play about his dreamy eye, 
And ever and anon it came 
Like moonbeams on a clouded night T 
Oh ! it did seem, as if his pure 
And holy spirit was absorb'd 
In sweet communion with its God I 
And he had no wild yearnings for 
The life which was to pass away ;' 
But as the children of the sea, 
Who long have pin'd upon the land^ 
Do feel a native ecstacy 
When first they catch a misty view 
Of ocean, with her splendid train 
Of billows, rolling mountain-high ! — 
So did his spirit pass from earth 
In joyousness, to mingle with 
It's kindred in the sunny sky ! 

And this, oh Genius f was the end 
Of thine own bright and gifted child,- 
Whose pure and gentle spirit fell 



13 

A bleeding victim to the cold 
And bitter scorn of selfisli man ! 
Methinks the very stars should weep, 
In holy sympathy, to see 
The pure and beautiful of earth 
As flowers, fading in their bright 
And early spring! — Oh! is there not, 
Far in the blissful realms of Heav'n, 
Some " chosen spot," for those who fail 
Like Stars from out the Firmament ! 



Fl.MS. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



ADDRESS TO SLEllP. 

Dark and impenetrable are llie clouds 

Whicli enshroud thy form, oh, great Goddess, Sleep ! 

]Man, in all the pride of his Intellect 

lias tried in vain to snatch the mystic veil 

From thy magic brow ;-— thoti art coeval 

AVith his own existence ; like smue spirit 

Sent from the bright realms of eternity 

To cheer him upon life's toilsome journey. 

High and holy is thy mission ! for thou 

llust been the chosen handmaid of Heaven, 

Bearing its high behests to fallen man : 

Through thee,, did Israel's Holy Prophets 

Catch the beacon-lights of inspiration ! 

Thou art an oracle, oh Sleep ! and oft 

Has man learn'd from thee, the revelations 

Of his own destiny. Thou hast power 

To call forth from the whole world of fancy 

Splendid creations of light and beauty ! 

1'hou art the tyrant of a bad conscience. 

And dost conjure up such horrid phantoms 

In the fev'rish brain of the wicked man, 

That e'en thyself art forc'd to shrink aghast 

From thine own picture — leaving the guilty 

To the milder thraldom of their wakino- thoughts. 



I MET THEE IN MY EARLY YOUTH. 

I met thee in my early youth, 

When life was bright and fair — 
Thy magic charms stole o'er my soul 

And left their impress there. 
I gave to thee a heart unstain'd 

With sins of after years — 
A heart which never ceas'd to love 

In sunshine or in tears ! 



15 



Tho- years have past since iirst we met, 

And youth's bright dreams are gone ; 
Yet art thou now as dear to me 

As in life's early morn. 
Amid the cold and heartless crowd 

Thine angcl-form I see, 
And in it's slumb^'ing reveries 

My spirit turns to tliee ! 

Tlie spell which thou did'st cast upon 

My spirit in it's youth, 
Has prov'd a sliield in after life 

Of purity and truth ! 
Thy magic power o'er my soul 

Has shed a sunny ray 
Of love and purest sympathy 

Which ne'er can fade away ! 

Oh lady ! though I dare not hope 

To call thee ever mine. 
For clouds are gath'ring o'er my path 

Which ne'er must darken thine : 
Yet in the temple of my heart 

The vestal flame shall glow 
Which cloth'd my dreams of early youth 

In beauty — " long ago ! " 



MY OWN NATIVE LAND. 

There is an affection, no language can tell, 

As strong as a magical wand, 
Nor distance nor time can diminish its spell — 

'Tis the love of our own Native Land ! 

Should I die from my home, with no friend to weep 

For my spirit departed from earth, 
Dh lay me to rest, where my forefathers sleep 
In the beautiful Land of my Birth ! 



16 
STILLY, OH! STILLY 

Stilly, oh ! stilly — 

Lay her gently down — 
Soft be her slumbers 

In the cold, chilly ground ? ^ 

Hush thee, oh hush thee I 

Breathe not a sigli, 
Her spirit hath gone 

To its home in the skv ! 



Bright was her beauty, 
Deep was her worth, 

And angels came down 
To take her from earth ! 

Strew flowers, bright flowers 
O'er the place of her rest, 

Fit emblems they are 

Of the souls of the blest! 

Let tlie snow and the storm 

Beat over her head, 
For nothing can trouble 

The sleep of the dead ! 

I met her — and lov'd her 
In the bloom of her youth j 

And I thought lier a model 
Of purity and truth ! 

But she's gone — she is gone 
To her home in the sky. 

And angels are singing 
Her requiem on High ! 

Fare thee well, Wilhelmina — 
'1 hou b(>antiful girl! 

I hope to meet with thee 
In a happier world ! 



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